Jason Todd: Profiler
by UnderTheRedHood
Summary: To be honest, had Jason known that he'd be marched into the GCPD by two FBI agents for trying to steal their tires, he probably wouldn't have. But, all's well that ends well: he helps solve a murder, isn't charged with a felony, and he gets the girl - well, if by getting the girl you mean being adopted by a very smitten Agent Prentiss, then sure, Jason gets the girl.
1. couldn't be worse

The BAU didn't go to Gotham.

The city was a cesspit of crime and corruption, and, maybe, it was simply beyond saving. All attempts to clean up the city had failed and the Gotham City Police Department's job wasn't to stop crime, it was to _manage_ it. Like trying to put out a fire that was already far, far too large to control. Their efforts were ultimately useless, but it was better than just standing there and watching the city burn itself to the ground.

The GCPD, perhaps resigned to their fate, had never reached out to the BAU, so it had been quite a surprise when a case file from Commissioner Gordon made its way to JJ's desk. Then she'd had the misfortune of having to _read_ the file.

Several kidnappings; all the victims had been brutally tortured and killed, and their bodies had been displayed in public places. This hadn't been anything too out of the ordinary for them, not when compared to the horrors that piled up on her desk in little brown folders. There had been some photos clipped to the case briefing and she'd barely stopped herself from gagging. It was _brutal._

They'd all been beaten sickening shades of purple and blue, flesh littered with infected burns and poorly healed cuts, and shards of bone jutted out through shredded layers of muscle.

Then, there had been the faces.

Their skin had been bleached a patchy white, and it looked like someone had taken a blunt vegetable peeler to it. Pieces – chunks, almost – flaking off in strips, like old paint. Their eyes were pinned wide open, still glistening with visceral fear. Blood, still wet, dripped down the sides of their face, where a haunting smile had been permanently etched into their skin.

The team were briefed and left for Gotham that day. When they'd arrived, they immediately sprang into action.

Commissioner Gordon had met them in the lobby of the GCPD and led them to where they would be working. Since all the victims were all from different social groups, they had decided that it would be best if they all took different parts of the city. There were three distinct 'sections' – the North, the West, and the East End District. Prentiss and Reid took the North, where the city's upper classes lived; JJ and Rossi were assigned the west preface around the station; Hotch and Morgan left for Crime Alley, in the east. They'd rendezvous back at the GCPD at noon to compare notes.

Jason Todd did not have a happy life. He spent most of his days struggling to steal enough to meet the week's quota; the majority of whatever he could scrounge up went to the two thugs who hung around Bull Street, where he had 'settled' down. He didn't have the slightest idea who they worked for, and he couldn't care less. All he knew was that, if he met their cost and occasionally ran errands for them, they'd protect him from other gangs and, every now and then, slip him some food or a pack of cigarettes.

So far, he'd managed to stay on top of their requirement of five hundred bucks a week. His 'hobby' ensured this. _Tire jacking._

He knew – very, _very_ deep down – that what he did was wrong. But, then again, he figured, if they could afford a car in the first place, they probably weren't on the verge of starvation. He tried to keep track of which cars he hit and made sure never to rob the same car twice if he could help it. Maybe it was because, somewhere, he felt bad for them. Maybe it was because doing so lessened his chances of getting caught (and getting the daylights kicked out of him). He didn't really remember anymore.

The guy who ran a chop shop nearby taught him how to do about a year and a half ago. Jason had gotten plenty of practice since – he could clear all four tire and be on the other side of Crime Alley in under two hours. He'd usually make forty bucks a pop, but he'd never made more than sixty.

Then he'd come across the Jeep. A big, black hulking thing that practically _glistened_ in the dirty light, like some huge pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. Two men in suits had stepped out of it, and he'd ducked behind a dumpster, clutching his cart (a square of wood with a couple of rickety wheels duct-taped to its underside) to his chest.

He glanced around at them after a second or two. In the dim light, he could just make out the all too familiar outline of a gun under their suit jackets. They didn't look like the usual thugs, though. They were lacking that absent look in their eyes that every gangbanger Jason had ever come across seemed to have – his father certainly had. Higher ups, perhaps?

Nah, no one who was important in a gang drove a _Jeep_. They all had limos and Rolls Royce's, like good cliché gangsters.

Cops, then maybe? No. They didn't look like scumbags. That arrogant, disdainful look that seemed to be permanently slapped across the face of every police officer Jason had ever met. There was, however, an exception – Commissioner Jim Gordon.

The good ol' comish' had managed to wriggle his way onto Jason's pathetically small list of people he almost trusted – the list hadn't even existed previously. The single, brief encounter they shared very, very nearly convinced Jason to maybe reconsider his opinion on (some of) the law.

Jason had tried to boost his first set of tires and had been caught, red-handed. When Gordon arrived on the scene, Jason had genuinely started fearing for his life. He'd heard what happened if you got caught. The stories, he could have shaken off, but the _bruises_ were undeniable evidence.

But the dear Commissioner had simply let out an exasperated sigh and shook his head. He crouched down to Jason's height (a measly three and a half feet tall) and proceeded to give Jason what he assumed was akin to a parental scolding. After he had finished with the whole 'stealing is wrong and you should know that' speech, he'd asked about Jason's parents. Upon noticing Jason's clear discomfort at the topic, he backtracked and asked if Jason at least had somewhere to stay. Jason lied and said that he did because he knew that he'd end up in the orphanage if he said otherwise. Gordon, despite obviously knowing that Jason was lying, didn't push him any further and let him off with a warning, telling him to stay out of trouble.

It wasn't until Gordon had driven off and Jason was halfway down the street that he'd noticed the large wad of cash that had been slipped into his coat pocket. Eight-year-old Jason had eaten like a king that week, and he'd been very grateful towards Commissioner Gordon.

But, the rest of the GCPD were still abusive, morally bankrupt idiots. And cops, these men were not.

Feds then, Jason decided. Or the CDC or whatever. Something government-y. He pushed himself further into the corner and held his breath as the men walked past him. They were talking but Jason couldn't hear what they were saying. He waited until they rounded the corner before moving, glancing after them to make sure that they were actually leaving.

Jason paused for a moment as he watched them cross the street and though. If they were gone for more than hour, he could probably snatch two tires and be long gone before they ever even came back. He could get a hundred bucks a tire, at least.

And if he got caught…

God-knows-what they'd do to him. Then again, in juvie, he'd get three meals a day and a bed. If he gets away with it, he's two hundred dollars up. At least a month's worth of food, on a silver platter.

He watched them disappear and then waited for what seemed like hours for the two men to come back, but they never did. Jason decided to make his move, tightening his grip around his tire iron and marching towards the Jeep determinedly.

He'd been crouched by the back of the car, working off the third tire, when they'd returned. The click of a gun being cocked echoed through the alley and Jason froze, standing up slowly. Both of the men lowered their guns at the sight of him.

"Unbelievable," the taller one muttered, raising an eyebrow at him. He followed their gaze to the tool in his hand and he dropped it. There was _no_ way that he was going to get out of this. Jason Todd was well and truly done for. Great.

The team had all regrouped at the police station, except for Hotch and Morgan. They'd all thought nothing of it at first. Until half an hour had passed. JJ called them.

Hotch hadn't picked up, but Morgan did.

"Hey, Derek. Is Hotch there with you?"

"Yeah. He's right here?"

"Is everything okay? Where are you two?"

"We're fine. Still in Park Row." There was a loud shuffling sound on the other end. JJ could hear Hotch shouting indistinctly and then it sounded like Morgan was running. "Be there in ten."

The line cut off.

Fifteen minutes later, both Hotch and Morgan marched into the station looking exhausted and slightly irritated. Morgan was practically dragging a small boy in handcuffs behind him. Gordon sighed loudly at the sight of the boy's face and his expression dropped.

"Hey, Gordon," Morgan called out, beckoning him over. "Do you have any spare cells?"

"No," he answered, not taking his eyes off the boy, "not right now. But I think the interrogation room is free."

Morgan nodded and Gordon led him into the room. He pushed Jason into the small room and gestured for him to sit. Jason did so, begrudgingly and muttering under his breath. "Get comfortable, kid," he said. He faintly heard the boy hissing curses as he shut the door.

Gordon approached him as he left and asked what he wanted to do about the kid. Morgan said that his team would handle it later, if it was alright with him. Gordon nodded and shouted over to another office to come over. "I need you to give everything we have on Jason Todd to Agent Morgan."

The officer went off, presumably to search for the file, and Morgan muttered a quick 'thanks' before making his way over to the rest of the team. He would deal with Jason Todd later. Right now, he had a serial killer to catch.


	2. working the case

A half hour had passed since the arrest of Jason Todd and the team had long since thrown themselves into the case. JJ and Morgan had gone to collect the Jeep that he and Hotch had been forced to abandon in Park Row, and the rest of them were in a spare meeting room with Commissioner Gordon. Usually, they preferred to come up with a profile alone and then present it, but considering that Gotham… well, Gotham was _different_ , to put it politely, so they thought it best to have someone who knew the place with them.

They had, so far, narrowed the profile down to an unmarried male, who was most likely in his late 30s to early 40s. Reid was cello-taping small photos of the victims above the appropriate information sheet.

"This isn't the first time he's done this," Hotch said. "He's had practice. Gang ties, perhaps?"

"Probably an enforcer," Gordon said, nodding. "From the looks of it was one of Falcone's or Sionis'. I'll have my undercovers ask around and I'll see about getting you access to Arkham and Blackgate records."

"The signature," Rossi began, "maybe he's projecting."

"If he actually did have those scars, it'd be impossible for him not to be noticed by _someone_ ," Emily added. "Maybe he has an accomplice."

"It's likely that the accomplice is a woman," Reid called over his shoulder, pushing thumbtacks into a map of Gotham. "Statistically, a woman would be seen as less of a threat, so the victims would let their guard done more easily."

"It'd have to be a dom/sub relationship," Hotch said. "The unsub is clearly a violent sexual sadist and he wouldn't be able keep a relationship without severe emotional manipulation. An accomplice would probably have some form of Stockholm Syndrome."

"We had a few witnesses who claimed to have seen a blonde woman talking to the fourth victim, Jonah Hex, at a gala on the night that he disappeared," Emily said. "Maybe she's our accomplice."

"Yeah, they didn't recognise her either," Reid threw in.

"That's not entirely unusual," Gordon interjected. "Those playboys go through women like loose change. It's unlikely that you'll find her, anyhow."

"Still, it's the only lead we have," Rossi said. "We should consider looking into it."

Gordon sighed. "Who were the witnesses?"

"Janet and Jack Drake. Their son, Tim, said he saw her."

He nodded. "I know them. I'll go myself."

"What about the West?" Hotch asked.

"The unsub took all the victims at night. No witnesses, but there was some security footage of the fifth victim. It's…" Rossi shook his head.

Hotch frowned. "No one came forward in the East End either. They knew something, but they just didn't want to say anything."

"They aren't too keen on law enforcement. Don't trust us. It won't do too much good to ask around there."


End file.
